This does start out as an OC story, but the Bayville mutants will be
introduced into it soon enough.
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Master was coming. That meant pain, much pain. When he was little he'd cried out, but it didn't take long for him to realize that just made the pain worse. Scars from electrified cattle prods, whips, and more adorned his body. He had no name, and just barely had the will to live. Sometimes he wanted to just lie down and never get up again, but every time he was about to do it, the breeze would seem to call him. Some little scent from - from... somewhere else, somewhere outside the world of the pit and his cage, would call to him, and tell him that there was more to life than blood and pain and leering men who threw things at him.
Master was coming. What was left within the slave, what little part of him remembered what life was before, was tempted to pull at the heavy metal collar, to try to remove it, but that just brought more pain. Using his paws like hands, showing any intelligence, any recognition, brought pain. Master's servant-boy cowered up to the cage, slipping his hand inside just long enough to attach the leash. Slave was tempted to fight, but he knew that if he so much as curled his lip at Sevant-boy, Master would touch the little square thing in his hand, the one that would send Slave to the ground in howling agony. So he stood still while Servant-boy attached the leash and opened the cage, letting himself be lead along placidly, so he wouldn't be zapped.
Servant-boy led him to the pit, and he felt himself thrust inside. A part of him that remembered the before-times, a part that was growing ever smaller, hated what was going to happen next. Slave remembered that there was a reason this bit of him hated it, but he couldn't remember what it was, just as he couldn't remember what the before-times were. Moments after he was thrust into the pit, a door on the other side was opened and three great dogs were shoved inside. They came after him in a blood-lust.
This was his only respite from the cage now. The chance to leap and run, to dance a dance of blood and pain. He felt his tail lash about his body as he waited for the dogs to come to him. After a few moments of blood and frenzied, half-remembered movements, it was over, and he could eat. Slave settled over his three kills, to try to fill his belly before Master herded him out of the pit, back to his cage.
Once again, Master came into the cage, armed with whip, cattle-prod, and more exotic implements. The crowd surrounding the pit cheered as Master came at him, using his weapons to force Slave out of the pit and into his cage, whick Servant-boy had pushed up to one of the exits of the pit. Once again Master would force him back, back into the cage, back into the dark, but sometimes, sometimes Slave could avoid him for a little while, long enough to fill his belly on his kills. He would have leaped at Master, but if he did that, Master would touch the little box and pain from the collar would fell Slave.
Once again, Slave tried to eat his fill while dodging the whip and prod. Once again, he didn't always make it away in time. Fresh whip-wounds were opened, as well as fresh burns from the prod. But this time, something different happened. Master made a bad lunge with the prod, and it zapped the latch on his collar. The collar flew off, and Slave was free to flee.
In an instant, he leaped to the side of the pit and started using his claws to dig in, to climb. Guns from Master and from the crowd were drawn, but he never slowed down. He was almost there. Almost out. Somehow, he managed to dodge most of the fire and leap out of the pit and past the men. He pumped all four legs as fast as they would go. Then, he smelled it. The little breeze that had comforted him all this time. He followed it until he came to a door. Instead of slowing, Slave just sped up, faster and faster, twisting at the last moment so that his shoulder hit the door instead of his head. His shoulder hurt, but he didn't care. The door hadn't stood a chance. What that little breeze had hinted at was all around him. Instead of dust, fear, and blood, the world smelled of life. He leaped out and started running, far from his old life and into this new. He bounded over the green, into tall growing things, into a wet coldness, and more. It was many hours before Slave stopped and collapsed, stopping only because he could run no more.
The part of him from the before-times, the before-fur-times, was remembering more. He needed a name. But what. He was free. He needed a freedom-name. He remembered back, to that moment with the cattle prod. As it had freed him, it had made a name. He would take the last sound of the prod, the sound of freedom, as his name. He was Zak.
He had a name. He was alive again. The smell of prey was all around him. It was time for him to hunt, to kill, to live again.
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Opinions?
Master was coming. That meant pain, much pain. When he was little he'd cried out, but it didn't take long for him to realize that just made the pain worse. Scars from electrified cattle prods, whips, and more adorned his body. He had no name, and just barely had the will to live. Sometimes he wanted to just lie down and never get up again, but every time he was about to do it, the breeze would seem to call him. Some little scent from - from... somewhere else, somewhere outside the world of the pit and his cage, would call to him, and tell him that there was more to life than blood and pain and leering men who threw things at him.
Master was coming. What was left within the slave, what little part of him remembered what life was before, was tempted to pull at the heavy metal collar, to try to remove it, but that just brought more pain. Using his paws like hands, showing any intelligence, any recognition, brought pain. Master's servant-boy cowered up to the cage, slipping his hand inside just long enough to attach the leash. Slave was tempted to fight, but he knew that if he so much as curled his lip at Sevant-boy, Master would touch the little square thing in his hand, the one that would send Slave to the ground in howling agony. So he stood still while Servant-boy attached the leash and opened the cage, letting himself be lead along placidly, so he wouldn't be zapped.
Servant-boy led him to the pit, and he felt himself thrust inside. A part of him that remembered the before-times, a part that was growing ever smaller, hated what was going to happen next. Slave remembered that there was a reason this bit of him hated it, but he couldn't remember what it was, just as he couldn't remember what the before-times were. Moments after he was thrust into the pit, a door on the other side was opened and three great dogs were shoved inside. They came after him in a blood-lust.
This was his only respite from the cage now. The chance to leap and run, to dance a dance of blood and pain. He felt his tail lash about his body as he waited for the dogs to come to him. After a few moments of blood and frenzied, half-remembered movements, it was over, and he could eat. Slave settled over his three kills, to try to fill his belly before Master herded him out of the pit, back to his cage.
Once again, Master came into the cage, armed with whip, cattle-prod, and more exotic implements. The crowd surrounding the pit cheered as Master came at him, using his weapons to force Slave out of the pit and into his cage, whick Servant-boy had pushed up to one of the exits of the pit. Once again Master would force him back, back into the cage, back into the dark, but sometimes, sometimes Slave could avoid him for a little while, long enough to fill his belly on his kills. He would have leaped at Master, but if he did that, Master would touch the little box and pain from the collar would fell Slave.
Once again, Slave tried to eat his fill while dodging the whip and prod. Once again, he didn't always make it away in time. Fresh whip-wounds were opened, as well as fresh burns from the prod. But this time, something different happened. Master made a bad lunge with the prod, and it zapped the latch on his collar. The collar flew off, and Slave was free to flee.
In an instant, he leaped to the side of the pit and started using his claws to dig in, to climb. Guns from Master and from the crowd were drawn, but he never slowed down. He was almost there. Almost out. Somehow, he managed to dodge most of the fire and leap out of the pit and past the men. He pumped all four legs as fast as they would go. Then, he smelled it. The little breeze that had comforted him all this time. He followed it until he came to a door. Instead of slowing, Slave just sped up, faster and faster, twisting at the last moment so that his shoulder hit the door instead of his head. His shoulder hurt, but he didn't care. The door hadn't stood a chance. What that little breeze had hinted at was all around him. Instead of dust, fear, and blood, the world smelled of life. He leaped out and started running, far from his old life and into this new. He bounded over the green, into tall growing things, into a wet coldness, and more. It was many hours before Slave stopped and collapsed, stopping only because he could run no more.
The part of him from the before-times, the before-fur-times, was remembering more. He needed a name. But what. He was free. He needed a freedom-name. He remembered back, to that moment with the cattle prod. As it had freed him, it had made a name. He would take the last sound of the prod, the sound of freedom, as his name. He was Zak.
He had a name. He was alive again. The smell of prey was all around him. It was time for him to hunt, to kill, to live again.
____________________________________________________________
Opinions?
